


On a Snowy Evening

by natascha_ronin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan Secret Santa 2017, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natascha_ronin/pseuds/natascha_ronin
Summary: A peek into the Swan/Jones family in Storybrooke. S7 Canon Compliant.





	On a Snowy Evening

She pads down the stairs, wool socks swishing softly on the cold wood. She steps to the middle on the second-to-last step, the years in this house making it easy to maneuver through without a sound. The Christmas tree twinkles in the corner by the fireplace, making her smile. Her favorite fleece throw is tossed over the back of the couch, and she gathers it around her shoulders to maximize the warmth, though she rarely needs much external insulation these days. 

The windows illuminate the sheer curtains, street lights giving them an otherworldly glow in the cold, cold night. Her hand drifts out past the blanket to grasp the panel and pull it back and give her sight. 

The moon is blanketed by clouds tonight, no view of the waves. Soft snow drifts down over the lawn and onto the large porch. She’s tempted to walk outside, the look of it so fluffy like down. She knows that the moment she does, the wind will whip through her, the snow will seep through her thick socks, and she’ll regret her own curiosity. 

So she stays awhile and watches it swirl down around the house, an old poem settling in her thoughts:

_To watch his woods fill up with snow._

It was a poem that caught her over the years, this time of year, in the hopeful magic of the Christmas season. Some years had her looking at sullen lodgings and meager offerings; others were rife with cheer and merriment – candlelit mass on Christmas eve, an enormous ham and even a new pair of rollerblades once. 

_Between the woods and frozen lake_   
_The darkest evening of the year._

She shudders with that thought. _Darkness_. She hasn’t heard the whispers in years. Her eyes involuntarily flick up to the ceiling while the hand not clutching the curtain goes to her stomach. It still grips her sometimes, the fragility of their lives and the loss they’ve shared. 

As if on cue, she hears the creak of floorboards upstairs and the telltale thump of a three-hundred-year-old gait. Even after all this time, he can still feel her, as if her moods were a beacon to him. 

She snorts when she sees him emerge at the bottom of the stairs, pretends to ignore him and continues to watch the snow fall around the house. His chest is warm at her back as he grabs the edge of the blanket to wrap around himself. He’s acclimated to her world fairly well over the last decade; he uses an electric shaver, carries a lighter, and no longer sleeps in the nude. She just wishes she could get him to wear a shirt to bed with his pajama pants. 

She supposes it’s better that way, since the shirts always fit her so well. _At least, they used to._

He rests his chin on her shoulder and she can hear him breathing, still half-asleep, his warm breath fogging the window slightly. They stay like that for a little while. Outside, the snow continues to fall, gliding through the naked tree limbs, down, down, down, dividing across the porch railing to nestle in drifts around the chairs and the potted arborvitae she wraps in burlap every year. 

_The only other sound’s the sweep_   
_Of easy wind and downy flake._

“I’ll have to shovel in the morning before going in.” His voice is a soft rumble in her ear, and she shivers.

“I’ll help.” She takes a deep breath. 

His hand covers hers on her stomach. “I don’t want to risk you falling.” The blanket falls over his shoulder. She can see his tattoos out of the corner of her eye. “And the whole reason I took the morning shift is because you were having trouble waking in the morning.”

She knows he’s right, but still – “Killian –“ She starts to protest weakly. 

“Please rest, darling.” He kisses her ear softly. “You do enough.”

She blushes, but nods her head, glaring at the snow and willing it to stop so he won’t have too big of a chore later. She still struggles sometimes, especially now, with needing to do more to feel accepted. That lost little girl is found more and more each day, but the Savior is still in overdrive sometimes, needing to be needed, desperate to help and do and rescue. 

He always notices. He affirms. He assures her she’s not going to be kicked out for forgetting to wash a few dishes. 

Or for burning an entire rack of ribs on Labor Day two years ago.

She chuckles. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, love.” He rests his chin on her shoulder again and rubs circles around her swollen belly.

She looks down. She started showing a few months back, right after they got back from the Enchanted Forest. Her mom mentioned going maternity shopping when she started lamenting that the rubber band trick wasn’t working on her jeans anymore. Killian assured her it was normal with a second pregnancy to start showing earlier, having read half a dozen books in the first trimester. 

Now, she just lets him talk to the doctor when they go in for checkups. It’s crazy how different things are with this baby than they were with Henry.

_Henry._

She squeezes her eyes shut, wondering how he’s doing, trying not to worry and let him forge his own path. He’s got Regina and Killian’s wish double there; he should be fine, but she still can’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety and loss. 

As if he can tell what direction her thoughts are going in, Killian starts to hum and draw nonsensical shapes over her nightshirt. 

“Fancy a cup of hot chocolate?” 

She feels a flutter in her abdomen. It’s still too early to feel kicks and punches in there, but she can just make out the soft quiver of life inside. There’s a child growing, loved and strong. _A little pirate_ , as Killian is fond of saying. 

“That sounds perfect,” she whispers, turning her head to nuzzle his beard. It’s likely she won’t sleep, even after the warm beverage, but she’ll be able to settle down knowing the snow will fall and her husband will sleep...

_Lovely, dark, and deep._


End file.
